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HARRY G. BURNS 



WAY BACK IN 
INDIANA 

And Other Poems 



HARRY G. BURNS 




ARTIetVeRITATI? 



BOSTON 

THE POET LORE COMPANY 

THE GORHAM PRESS 



Copyright, 1918, by Harry G. Burns 



All Rights Reserved 



MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



JUN -3 1918 
I.A497589 






FOREWORD 

I'd like to leave a word behind, 
Perhaps some verse in ryme, 

To live down through the ages 
Until the end of time. 

And if there be a thought or two, 
To cheer some aching heart, 

It's worth my time and effort 
For just this little part. 

The Author. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Way Back in Indiana 1 1 

The Highway of Life 12 

The Old House 13 

A Little Ray of Sunshine 14 

The Boy 15 

Christmas Time 16 

When Old Santa Comes Around 18 

When Grandpa Reads 19 

Selfishness and Pleasure-Bent 21 

My Mamma 22 

Youth and Old Age 23 

Springtime and Winter 24 

Little Kentucky Wild Flower 26 

Mother 27 

Putting On 28 

Not Ever' Kid Is' A Poet 29 

In Eighteen Seventy-Five 31 

The Soldier of Lincoln's Day 35 

From Our Own Home Town 37 

5 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Facing Page 

Harry G. Burns Frontispiece ■ 

Way Back in Indiana I2 

When Grandpa Reads 2 ° 



WAY BACK IN INDIANA AND OTHER 
POEMS 



WAY BACK IN INDIANA 

I wandered many years, my boy, 

Through cities great and small, 
I've seen most everything there is, 

And am weary of them all; 
I'm old and gray and bent in form, 

As I'm leaving old Montana, 
But I'm going home to friends that's true, 

Way back in Indiana. 

I'm tired of strife and struggle, lad, 

Of style and all of that, 
And I'm sick of silly fashions, 

With deceit in gown and hat, 
I long for friends that's true, my boy, 

Like mother and Sister Anna, 
So I'm going home to those I knew, 

Way back in Indiana. 

But stop a bit, I'd most forgot, 

It's been a many a year, 
And there are voices once I knew, 

I could no longer hear, 
I'd find no loving kinfolks now — 

Not even Uncle Danna — 
And few there'd be of my old friends, 

Way back in Indiana. 

But if by chance the old house stands, 

Though tenantless and bare, 
I'd like to be within its walls 

And think of those that were; 
I'd like to stand on the kitchen floor, 

Where I played with little Anna, 
And weep alone for those I loved, 

Way back in Indiana. 
II 



THE HIGHWAY OF LIFE 

Along the highway of life. 

Are children, fair and young, 
Laughing; singing and skipping on 

In the rays of the morning sun. 
No worries or cares to burden them down 

No sorrows or deep despair, 
Just happy and free as they dance along 

In the glorious morning air. 

Along the highway of life, 

In the rays of the noon-day sun, 
We see them again in the mid-day of life 

When burdens and cares have begun. 
They are filled with hope and ambition, 

For the days that are yet to come, 
And they are building great air castles, 

To crumble, one by one. 

Along the highway of life, 

In the rays of the setting sun, 
They travel on with feeble step, 

Till the end of the day is done, 
There's many turns and ups and downs, 

Along this great highway, 
And no turning back, just on and on, 

Till they reach the end of the way. 



12 



THE OLD HOUSE 

I've a longing for the old house, 

That stood back on the hill. 
Just beyond the railroad, 

By the creek and the old mill. 
I love to think of those days, 

When we watched the trains below, 
Speeding like lightning past us, 

In the years of long ago. 

And how we'd sit on the rail fence 

As the thing went whizzing by, 
And think of the city it was bound for 

With buildings and steeples high. 
And dream of success to be had there, 

With honor and fame unknown, 
Till we forgot the treasure we owned ther 

The house that we called our home. 

But now that success has found us, 

Along with its burdens to share, 
We find many friends around us, 

To give us attention and care, 
But with all the city can give us, 

That money can buy to please, 
There's none like the house in the country, 

With its peace and quiet and ease. 



13 



A LITTLE RAY OF SUNSHINE 

There's a little high-toned lady, 

So young and sweet and fair 
That makes our home the brighter 

Whenever she is there. 
She wears a big bow-ribbon 

On her golden curly hair, 
And she seems to scatter sunshine 

About us everywhere. 

She comes a running over 

From her home across the way, 
And it would be just simply awful 

If she'd chance to miss a day. 
For something about her little self 

Just makes me love her more, 
And I think the world is better 

When she's skipping 'round the floor. 

I wish I knew her secret, 

So happy and free from care, 
With not a single worry, 

Nor even a burden to bear. 
It would be well worth a million 

To travel in her class 
So bright and free and happy, 

This gentle little lass. 



14 



THE BOY 

Was there ever any where, 
A man so full of business care 

That he could find no time or joy- 
In a laugh or joke with a little boy? 

Or could there ever chance to be 
A man so blind as not to see 

That with no time for the boy 
Much is lost of earthly joy. 

Call to mind, when you was small, 

Some big man so great and tall 
Who looked down on your little form 

And took your hand so soft and warm, 
When you was sure right from the start 

That on this friend you'd set your heart, 
For he was just what you would be 

When once a man as big as he. 

Then just remember if you can 

And walk as straight as any man, 
For little eyes are watching you 

As one who's right in all you do, 
And if you chance to step astray 

They'll take it for the proper way 
For anyone with sense would know, 

The way was right, or you'd not go. 



15 



CHRISTMAS TIME 

When grandpa sits a readin' in his big old rockin' 

chair, 
I creep along so quiet like and jump and pull 'is 

hair, 
And 'en he jumps and hollers es if he's scart to 

death, 
And acts like he ain't goin' to ever get 'is breath. 

But I 'ist hug and kiss 'im and laugh up in 'is face, 
And say: "Grandpa, you can't read now 'cause you 

'ist lost the place." 
Then purty soon he'll sit up straight and say he 

guessed he'd know 
I'd want to hear 'bout Santa Claus a comin' through 

the snow. 

Then alookin' out the window, where it's awful 

dark and still, 
He says it's mighty lonesome away out on the hill. 
And sometimes 'at there's robbers wot steals 'most 

half the toys, 
And that's 'ist why they ain't none for some poor 

little boys. 

And grandpa says it's funny, but it's awa}'s 'most 

the case, 
They never takes the rich boys' toys, but leaves 'em 

in its place. 
And when old Santa turns around and sees wot they 

has done 
He ain't got nothin' left at all fer the poor little 

orphan one. 



But grandpa says it ain't so long 'fore Santa 'II take 

'is trip, 
And travel 'round at Christmas time in a great big 

airship, 
And 'at '11 make 'im happy fer he'll bring a big lot 

more, 
And stop at some boys' houses 'at he'd never been 

before. 



17 



WHEN OLD SANTA COMES AROUND 

Grandpa says it's funny, 

But it's always most the case, 
'At when old Santa comes around 

He's never on the place. 
An' grandpa he 'ist hates it, 

'Cause he's never seen 'm yet, 
And as long as he's been livin' 

They ain't even ever met. 

And 'at's wot looks so funny, 

When Santa comes on Christmas eve, 
Why he lets me hug and kiss 'em, 

An' I begs 'im not to leave. 
But he always says they's other boys 

Wots 'bout the same as me, 
'At needs some toys an' other things, 

'At he's 'ist got to see. 

An' wot 'ist looks more funny still, 

W'en Santa Claus is gone, 
It ain't much more'n a minute 

'Fore grandpa comes along. 
And I 'ist think 'at Santa Claus 

Don't come where is big men, 
But slips around w'en they is gone 

To see little boys then. 

But w'en I tells my grandpa 

'At Santa's 'bout his size, 
With 'ist his kind o' whiskers 

An' most his very eyes, 
Why he 'ist laughs and hollers, 

An' takes me on his knee, 
An' says he's mighty happy 

'Cause I got a Christmas tree. 
18 



WHEN GRANDPA READS 

When I get big like grandpa wot everybody knows, 
I'll sit around the kitchen stove, with specks upon 

my nose. 
And when I'm readin' in a book and grandma starts 

to scold, 
I'll twist around and smoke my pipe, and look just 

awful bold. 
I'll look up just like grandpa does, and play like I'm 

so mad, 
And say, "Grandma, you fuss so much, no wonder I 

am bad!" 
I'll have my way, I'll let her know, no matter what 

she sees, 
I'll poke the fire and make a noise, and do just what 

I please. 
I'll show old grandma who's the boss, and how to 

run the house. 
I'll look so mad she'll walk around as quiet as a 

mouse. 
And when I fuss and scold her more, she'll say she 

wished she'd die, 
And run off in the other room, and close the door 

and cry. 
I wonder wot that I'd do then, left sittin' in a stew? 
I spect I'd look around the room and feel just dread- 
ful blue; 
I s'pose I'd soon remember, though, how awful bad 

I'd been, 
A scoldin' poor old grandma and committin' such a 

sin. 



19 



I guess I'd slip up softly and open up the door, 
And creep along so quiet like, I'd hardly touch the 

floor ; 
I'd take her hands down from her face, and wipe 

the tears away, 
And kiss and hug her tight, you'd see, and love her 

all the day. 
Then grandma she'd look in my eyes and search 'em 

through and through 
To see if there's a speck of bad that I was goin' to 

do; 
Then purty soon she'd hug me close, and tell me 

never mind, 
It ain't no matter wot I done, she'll love me all 

the time. 



20 




WHEN GRANDPA READS 



SELFISHNESS AND PLEASURE-BENT 

Some people, all for self, 

Have little feeling for others; 
Always ready to receive 

With nothing for their brothers 
They must be petted and humored, 

To keep them in good cheer, 
And pleasures must be all their own, 

With nothing to interfere. 

You can do, and be kind to them, 

With really no end of trouble. 
You can spend your money on them, 

And handle them like a bubble. 
But when by some act or word, 

A kindness could be shown, 
They lavish it on some other one, 

For pleasures all their own. 

Yet a day is sure to come, 
When burdens and cares are known ; 
That they will be more thoughtful 

Of the kindness some have shown. 
And gladly then, they would repay, 

And give each one his due, 
That selfishness and pleasure-bent 

Has lost the chance to do. 



21 



MY MAMMA 

My mamma says some little girls 

Ir, lonesome as can be, 
'Cause they ain't got no mother, 

Like some other girls, and me ; 
And I jist wonder wot they does, 

When their prayers is said, 
With none to hug an' kiss 'em, 

And cover 'em in bed. 

I'd liice to find a little girl — 

One without no mother — 
And bring her home to my house, 

Then run and find another. 
I wish I'd bring a hundred, 

And let 'em come and see 
How good and kind and lovin' 

My mother is to me. 

And if they gets more kisses 

From mother, than does me, 
I'll know that she does it 

'Cause they's got no mother, see? 
I'll just hug and kiss 'em, too, 

An' run an' romp an' play, 
An' they can live at our house 

With mother every day. 

And when bed time comes around, 

An' we can hardly see, 
I'll tell 'em all that mother 

Jist sleeps next up to me. 
O' course, I want them little girls 

As close as close can be, 
But I'm always used to mother 

Sleepin' next close up to me. 
22 



YOUTH AND OLD AGE 

It seems the birds sang sweetest 

In those years so long before 
When life was like the springtime 

With sunshine more and more, 
And the clear and rippling waters 

With the sparkling of the dew 
Was like the life God gave her 

So bright and pure and true. 

But youth and sunshine 

Like songbirds come and go 
And in place of spring and flowers 

There's wintertime with snow, 
So by the cheerful firelight 

We sit with real content 
And dream of pleasant springtime 

And happy days we spent. 



23 



SPRINGTIME AND WINTER 

It was in the early springtime 

When the sky was bright and clear, 
Just like the light that sparkled 

In her eyes of Yesteryear. 
And 'twas in the glorious morning 

When life was young and sweet 
That he met this little maiden 

Who could make his life complete. 

Yet while the sun was brightest 

And the birds were singing gay, 
A stranger young and handsome 

Just stole her heart away. 
And it seemed just for the moment 

That the clouds which hung so low 
Had shut out all the sunlight 

That life could ever know. 

But in the evening's twilight 

Of life's declining years, 
He stole back to the haunts again 

That held his hopes and fears. 
He found her standing by the gate 

The same old gate of yore 
But not the same sweet maiden 

He knew so long before 



24 



How the years had changed her 

Though she was fair to see, 
With waving hair once so dark 

As white as white could be. 
There was no smile as before 

When he approached her side 
For she only saw a stranger 

Who had traveled far and wide. 

But when he called her name 

She seemed to start and stare, 
For she knew once again 

Her love was standing there. 
And from her lips there came, 

"Why did you run away? 
It was just a joke of brother's 

Who'd been gone for many a day.' 

And though the spring had vanished 

And summer time had fled, 
And Autumn's leaves were strewn 

Along old Winter's tread. 
Two hearts were young and happy 

Along familiar ways 
With thoughts of early springtime 

And bright and golden days. 



25 



LITTLE KENTUCKY WILD FLOWER 

She was like a little wild flower 

Sparkling in the dew 
Just a tender blossom 

The kind for me and you. 
She had the funniest talk 

And the cutest frock and frills 
And she was from old Kentucky 

Away back in the hills. 

It was "Sure enough," and "You all," 

And all that sort of thing 
She could laugh, pout and make a mouth 

And then she'd start to sing. 
She was pleased when she was noticed 

And she'd toss her curly head, 
And was happy from the morning 

Till it was time to go to bed. 

But ere this tender blossom 

Had bloomed out full and fair 
We saw it fade and disappear 

Like bubbles in the air. 
And now our hearts are lonely 

And often times sad, 
For we lost our little wild flower 

The only one we had. 



26 



MOTHER 

She gazed down in the little eyes 

With tenderest mother love 
And kissed the precious tiny lips 

As pure as Heaven above. 
And while her mind was centered 

On this loving little one, 
She dreamed of him in manhood 

In years that were to come. 

But while the sun was brightest 

In the springtime of his life 
An Angel took the mother 

From this world of care and strife. 
But her sweet and precious memory 

Forever will remain, 
To keep his soul and honor 

Without a single stain. 

But now in the evening's twilight 

By my fireside's gentle glow 
I long for her, my mother 

I knew so long ago. 
Though years have passed between us 

Her face I plainly see, 
And I wonder how much I've accomplished 

That mother had wished of me. 



27 



PUTTING ON 

Some folks think, just putting on 

Is all they need to do 
They never do act natural 

And you can read them through. 
For there is nothing in their lives 

But just false pretense 
And at times they seem to be 

Without an ounce of sense. 

They always act ridiculous 

When putting on their airs 
And seem to think the whole world 

And all it holds are theirs. 
They even believe that others 

Are far beneath their rank 
And come right out and say it 

In words loud and frank. 

They forget that sickness 

Could put them down and out 
And misfortune take their money 

And put their style to route 
And even forget that pride 

Always goes before a fall 
And the ones with the biggest feelings 

Drops the hardest of them all. 



28 



NOT EVER' KID IS' A POET 

My Grandpa he says' to me 

When we was both to home 
'At he 'ist know'd a little boy 

Wot read a Riley Poem. 
'Bout a little orphan girl 

'At went some place to stay 
To wash the cups and saucers up 

And put 'em all away. 

And the boy 'ist thought to his self 

It's easy 'nough to do 
And he'd 'ist write some pieces 

And be a poet too. 
So he 'ist tooked a pencil 

And started in to write 
But he couldn't think of nothin' 

Though he tried wil all his might. 

And en' his little sister says 

Write about an orphan too 
Wat has'ent got no mother 

Or a papa fond and true 
So he 'ist wrote six pages 

And sent 'em to a paper 
And 'en he felt 'at he was big 

A cuttin' such a caper. 



29 



But he 'ist know'd he see it 

A printed through an' through 
And he'd get so much money 

'At he would 'nt know what to do. 
So he kept a fellin' bigger 

And bigger all the time 
Till he imagined he was Riley 

A writin' things that ryme. 

And when the mail man corned around 

And looked all through his pack 
He found one from the printer 

With his name on the back. 
But when he tored it open 

He almost went to rack 
For they wus'ent a speck of money 

'Cause they sent his poem back. 

And now he's 'ist a common boy 

No bigger than he wus 
And he don't write no pieces 

And don't care if he ever does. 
But he 'ist says no wonder 

'At Riley wus big and great 
Fer not ever Kid is a poet 

Wot carries a book an' slate. 



30 



IN EIGHTEEN SEVENTY-FIVE 

If a young man of twenty 

Or perhaps say twenty-five 
Could wake up in the morning 

Back in eighteen seventy-five. 
And if he'd given no time or thought 

Upon the things that's past 
He'd hardly think that they could change 

In a manner quite so fast. 

The first thing to greet his ears 

When he awakes in the olden time 
Is the bells on the little street car mules 

With their peculiar jingle chime 
And possibly a little lad 

Yelling, papers of the day 
Whose names are unfamiliar 

To the ones he's heard them say. 

His attention is attracted 

To a boot black on the street 
With box flung over the shoulder 

Crying "Shine!" to all he'll meet. 
And a little farther on, is a boy 

With a ladder and nimble feet 
Turning off the gas lights 

On each corner of the street. 



31 



He see's the old bouldered streets 

And wonders how you'd get to work 
On these little toy mule cars 

Jumping the track at every jerk. 
And failing to find anything 

That seems familiar to him 
He looks on still farther 

But finds the chances slim. 

There is no Soldier's Monument 

Nor State House standing there 
And not even the terminal station 

With the interurban, he'll declare 
But he may see the railway station 

With its high tower and clock 
Above the little old city 

Just down another block. 

But even this is missing 

Though there is an old brick depot 
With about five archways 

Where trains are passing slow 
But now he's just a little tired 

And wants some place to go 
So he decides to take a rest 

In a moving picture show. 

But if he stops to ask a man 

That man will surely say, 
He never heard of a picture moving 

Like actors in a regular play. 
Nor does he know of a telephone 

Unless its across the street, 
Where they have one on exhibition 

And the like has never been beat. 
32 



Well how about an automobile 

A buggy running without a horse 
And the man just laughs still louder 

Until he's almost hoarse. 
But after laughing, and laughing, 

Until he can laugh no more, 
He says I plainly see now 

The asylum your looking for. 

But this young man who awoke 

In Eighteen Seventy-Five 
Finds things mighty dull 

And not very much alive. 
The Civil War had ended 

Only ten years before 
And the Centennial at Philadelphia 

Was talked of more and more. 

But this will be enough for him 

And as he stands there all alone 
I see a shade of discontentment 

On his face so plainly shown. 
And as the night draws on again 

With the dim glow of the street lights too 
He sees how gloomy it all is 

Compared to the things he knew. 

Ah, yes, these old times are interesting 

And pleasant in every way 
But "I'm ready to go back," he murmurs 

And so he would be, it's fair to say. 
But to us who remember, it is different 

We would not give up the convenience of today 
And be willing to go back again 

To the real old fashioned way. 
33 



Yet the remembrance of dim street lights 

Slow mule cars and other ways 
Brings no thought or gloom to our minds 

But reflect pleasant association of those days. 
Association with those we respected 

Whose memory still survives, 
And lingers with us always 

To cheer and brighten our lives. 



34 



THE SOLDIER OF LINCOLN'S DAY 

I saw a faded picture 

Of a scene in sixty-five 
The death chamber of Lincoln 

Who was scarcely yet alive 
It was a scene that's been recorded 

In history's final page 
The sad and tragic ending 

Of a great and noble sage. 

There must be scenes in memory 

That present themselves to view 
To those whose lives were connected 

With this great man they knew. 
From the statesman to the soldier 

Who fought the bloody war 
To keep our country united 

As it always was before. 

But as I stood enchanted 

With thoughts upon the past 
My eyes were turned abruptly 

On a scene that cannot last. 
For the soldiers of the Union 

Are fading one by one, 
And few are left who answered 

Lincoln's call to shoulder gun. 



35 



No wonder it was hanging there 

This picture that caught my eye, 
For close before my vision 

A casket was carried by 
Draped in the grand old colors 

Of the stars and strips of old 
In honor of the soldier dead 

Who fought so brave and bold. 

It was the turning of the pages 

Of History which begun 
Way back in Civil War days 

In eighteen sixty-one 
But it will soon be ended 

For the veteran of that awful affray 
Will only be in memory 

The Soldier of Lincoln's Day. 



36 



FROM OUR OWN HOME TOWN 

In the strange Land, 

Far and Near 
A familiar voice, 

Is good to hear 
And often times, 

Where ere' we go 
We chance upon, 

Some friend we know. 

But North or South, 

East or West 
The one we always, 

Greet the best 
Is the fellow who 

Just happens down 
From way back up 

In our own home town. 



37 



